


It Was My Circus and My Monkeys

by kyburg



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Everyone loves Bruce Banner but he's not appearing in this picture sorry, Gen, Iron Man 3 Compliant, Marvel POC, People You Meet Along The Way, Take a picture it'll last longer, photographic memories suck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyburg/pseuds/kyburg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is waiting for a quinjet to pick him up at Stark Tower in New York to take him to his new home in Washington DC.  What he finds in the lounge on the mezzanine level, ostensibly to let the resident mechanic fix his suit, is Col. James Rhodes.</p><p>And while he is no fan of Captain America, he does have questions about one of the Howling Commandos.  Steve Rogers is happy to oblige.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was My Circus and My Monkeys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weepingnaiad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/gifts).



> Written for the Marvel POC Bang of 2014 - thanks for letting me play! Hope you enjoy the story - and am looking forward to writing more about these characters again soon.

Bags packed, contents checked and rechecked again, Steve Rogers brought the half dozen duffel bags and suitcases to the mezzanine level of Stark Tower in preparation to board the quinjet scheduled to take him to Washington DC.

There had been a traditional Last Supper, as Tony had put it – favorite foods, bad jokes and worse stories – the night before, so he wasn’t entirely surprised to find the common area empty of any familiar faces. Everyone had gone back to work, normal routines being what they were.

He was going to his new home – not going away. With easily three times the amount of possessions he had come to Stark Tower with. Was it really just a year and change since then?

And then he noticed he was not alone.

Standing at the doorway leading to the helipad, a tall, slender figure in the flight suit of an Air Force colonel turned from where he had been scanning the skies, his eyes shielded from the morning sunlight with one hand. Looking at Steve with a content expression, the name badge over the left breast pocket read “RHODES,” but Steve didn’t hear the sound of a quinjet outside. Nor was there any equipment sitting on the helipad itself, checking the windows beyond the man. Sensing Pepper’s hand in this, Steve smiled to himself and cleared his throat.

“There’s only one person you could be,” he said and sighed with relief when the other man’s expression broke into an easy smile and turned to offer his hand as Steve approached him. “You’re James Rhodes, Tony’s friend. The one from school – “

“Yeah, yeah. That’s me.”

“Rhodey.” 

Bright, intelligent eyes shot up to meet his as his expression changed, then away as he ducked his head. “Yeah, okay. Maybe,” he said. “It the least of the worst things Tony’s called me, I guess.”

Giving his hand a firm grip, then releasing it, Steve stepped back. “Colonel James Rupert Rhodes?” He made sure he gave the name its proper respect, falling back into an attention stance and waited for the other man to do the same. He did, after a quizzical head cock.

“Captain Steven Grant Rogers…sir?”

And then Steve saluted him. Waited until he returned it, smiled and chuckled. “You deserve that, you know,” Steve said. “Of the entire people still living, you’ve known Tony Stark the longest. And you still call him friend. That’s worth something in my book.”

“Tony still speaks to me, that’s a feather in my cap on some days – on others, not so much.” Folding his arms behind him in an unconscious at-ease, Rhodey blew air as he looked away at the view outside the mezzanine windows. “There are days I can’t believe he still does.”

“I heard that!” Tony’s voice, filtered through the speakers jarred both the men, Steve to move to the nearest holoscreen, Rhodey with a guilty flinch as he quickly looked to the doorways to see if he had Tony walking into the room to deal with.

“Hey, there you are. Thought you were in the lab with Bruce.” Leaning up against the counter, Steve gently tapped a few commands in to brighten and widen the surveillance feed in Tony’s workshop. Down to a pair of canvas cargo pants and a black tank top, welding shield flipped up on top of his head, Tony was already elbow deep into what could only be the Iron Patriot armor, happily dismantling it from the inside out. 

“Bruce is in a lab with Bruce, I’m in the shop with – this. Wow. This is seriously awful, you know that, right? Platypus, I love you to bits, but I think bits are going to be the only thing left of this thing after I get through with it. Seriously. They actually put this paintjob on as an alloy veneer? You let them do that? No, too awful to believe. Never. You were in Malibu having a beer with me, that’s the story and I’m sticking to it.” Switching tools, Tony dove back into the open torso of the armor with renewed interest. “Oh honey, what have they done to you?”

“It’s the only armor to survive your house party, Tony. Have a little respect at least.” Rhodey had joined Steve at the screen, the light picking out the contours of his face and reflecting in his eyes. He had a narrow face, with an easy smile full of perfectly white teeth that contrasted sharply with his dark skin. “At least I got it here today, even though it was a jury rig deluxe job. They really busted it up good down there in Florida.”

“Maybe I should put a plaque ‘President Ellis got his butt kicked here’ right about – nah.” The whir of a high speed drill interrupted Tony’s rant, and the ching of a bolt hitting the floor completed the thought. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hey, Tony.” 

“My friend there has a question he’s always wanted to ask you. See if you can’t pry it out of him before you go, would ya?”

It was offhand remark, but Rhodey reacted as if stung. “Now, now – Tony. I don’t want – “

“No, no – I insist. What, you don’t trust me now or something?”

Tony had never even looked over his shoulder, but Rhodey shifted his feet, one hand coming down on the counter to tap fingers against its surface. “No,” he said, grudgingly, “It’s not that. It’s just…personal. And a little embarrassing, if you want the truth.”

Steve felt his features fall into a puzzled frown, his head cocking as he turned to face Rhodey with his body facing the other man, but still leaning against the counter, hands falling together in front of him. “There’s nobody else here but the three of us. And my first job in the service was wearing tights, so if you’ve got something more embarrassing than that, I’d like to know what it is.”

It had worked with most people intimidated by Captain America. But somehow, Steve knew he wasn’t dealing with a fan here.

Rhodey pressed his lips together and stared down at the counter as the moment passed, and then another. “It’s nothing,” he said at last, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Nothing.” 

“Cap?” Tony’s voice, softened in a way Steve knew was concern, spoke into the silence. “You remember Coulson, and his trading cards? Rhodey had a favorite too, but it wasn’t you.”

“Kinda thought so,” he answered. “It’s okay Tony, he doesn’t have to say – “

“Gabe Jones,” Rhodey spat out, looking down at the ground and stepping away from the console. “I could never hear enough about him, growing up. But there wasn’t much left to tell by the time I came along – “

Steve took a deep breath and allowed the thrill of pleasure the sound of his old friend’s name filled him with enter his voice. “Somebody remembers Gabe,” he said, letting the delight fill the words. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? Wow – wait, what you do you want to know? What can I tell you? I know there aren’t many photographs left – not that many were taken. What – “

“See, told you.” Tony only burbled as Rhodey looked up again, abashed and a little nonplussed at Steve’s reaction. “I told you, he loves talking about them. Now will you quit being so star-struck and just listen for a while? Growing up, you couldn’t shush him when it came to that guy. I showed him some of the pictures you drew, Steve. Pepper suggested he talk to you.”

“Do you want some?” It was hard from showing how excited he was. Watching Rhodey’s expression change from wary to surprise to delight only fed it. “More pictures, I mean. I have more in my sketchbook, I can do a few new ones for you. What do you want to know? Really – what can I tell you?”

Chuckling, Rhodey shook his head, smiling as he gestured towards the couches. “Maybe we’d better just sit down. I don’t know how soon your ride is going to be here, I’m only here until someone comes for me, or my personal mechanic here decides to get me out of his hair.”

Steve was happy to oblige, sitting across from Rhodey on the edge of his seat, elbows on knees, chin resting on steepled fingers. “Ask me anything. What’s the most important thing you want to know?”

“Okay,” the other man said, dropping his hand between his knees to clasp them together as he sat. “How. No, seriously. _How_ did you get a black man onto your team? All the squadrons were segregated until 1948, and you’d been gone for years by then. You had a black man as a Howling Commando in 1943 and nobody even blinked an eye. How did he get there, and how did you manage to keep him?”

“Simple. He was the right man for the job, and he was right there when I needed him.” Remembering what Clint had told him about the civil rights movement, separate but equal and desegregation efforts, Steve chose his words with care. That statement hadn’t rung true with Rhodey, and he could see it in the other man’s eyes. “That sounds pat and too good to be true,” Steve added, “but where the rubber met the road, that’s how it came down. He had been with a black unit, HYDRA’d got all of them but a few. When I got Bucky and the others free, both he and Jim Morita were there as well and we just kind of scooped them all up and I got my pick afterward. He was a good man. He the reason you joined the service?”

Ducking his head, Rhodey blew air. “Seeing him there made it possible to consider it,” he said shyly. “When you’re a kid like me, seeing someone like him in a leadership role was important, growing up. Like you really are the equal of any other man, and not just what people can say.”

“I’ve heard what people say,” Steve replied. “They said the same thing about the Irish, folks like my parents, when I was growing up. Biggest difference is that it ended for them. Gabe – both he and Jim – sometimes had a tougher job because they were who they were, but the troubles always came from outside the unit. Inside, it was a strength. They knew different things, came from different places and had perspectives none of the rest of us had.

Standing, Steve motioned Rhodey to do the same and faced him.

“He was this tall,” Steve said softly, letting memory take over as he drew the image of Gabe Jones over James Rhodes with his hands. “And this wide at the shoulder. A great bear of a man, everyone thought he was big and clumsy and not all that bright. More the fool them. Does anyone remember he was a musician, and a prodigy at languages? Fluent in German and French, and I don’t mean the book-smart kind. Gabe could speak every dialect, and if he didn’t know it, all he needed was one pass listening to it and he had it down cold. But he was also from around where I grew up…New York, shoot he pegged me within two blocks just by listening to me talk. Sang. Played the trumpet, and after he heard Harry James play ‘It’s Been A Long, Long Time’ on the radio he had it down by ear and we all got tired of hearing it after a while, y’know. Because he played it when he couldn’t sleep, and stuff.”

“He’s the one you took with you when you did recon,” Rhodey prompted and Steve responded with a smile.

“You know I did,” he answered. “He was the best shadow a guy ever had.”

###

It’s night, and Gabe is wearing black from head to toe as proud as a peacock. He knows all he has to do is close his eyes and keep his mouth shut, and if he holes up in a corner in the dark? Nobody is going to see him, nobody. He knows it, and it’s a point of personal pride.

Everybody else in the unit has to take a turn at the ashbin and hope for the best.

Tonight, he has to get Steve into a Resistance safe house to make a connection they suspect will lead to another HYDRA installation near the border with Italy. Jacques has quipped that maybe Baron Zola has developed a taste for Italian food, but a fluid spate of French patois from Gabe silences him mid-sentence.

Their contact tonight is a Parisian jazz quartet on the run, the HYDRA tail close behind. Their enemy this time is drawn from the local population, they know the lay of the land they are crossing and they are gaining ground on their prey. They’ve got one chance to find them, identify themselves as friendlies and get them out of harm’s way.

Taking the HYDRA tail out? Would be icing on some very swell cake. Steve has left everyone but Gabe back at the meeting point, promising them they’re going to point all of their attention their way with a wry twist of his lips. Jacques is already listening at keyholes, walking the markets with his ears open and reporting that the village is no happier with their visitors from out of town than they are.

Bucky is already up a tree, Dum Dum, Jacques, Jim and Monty hunkering down to count out their munitions, drawing scraps of plans in the sandy soil when they’d left. Looking back, scrubbing his eyes against the black charcoal and ashes he’d tossed on his face, Steve sighted Bucky one last time before Gabe had taken him by the elbow to lead them into town.

It might have been foolish of them to sing that night, to play quietly in the dark, but when Gabe hears a woman singing, the two of them quickly scuttle alongside the back door of the tiny cantina, rapping a quick staccato code on the lower half of the door.

Pulling Steve down to whisper in his ear, Gabe tells him what to say. “Je suis ici pour voir un homme au sujet d'un chien.“ He knows he only has to say it once for Steve to get it, but it might take a moment or two for him to teach his mouth how to say it. They’ve done it a time or two, and the quick response Steve hisses back to him satisfies him enough to grin. Steve has a huge American accent, but it’s intelligible.

They both know Steve is here because nobody would open the door for Gabe. And Jacques doesn’t speak English.

But when the top half of the door opens, and a woman’s face appears in the dim evening light, Steve quickly stammers the codephrase but just as fast, steps back to push Gabe forward. “Hsst! It’s okay. Sorry, Ma’am. We didn’t know. Gabe, look – it’s her!”

The beautiful face of Carla Williams, lit only by moonlight from a fingernail moon low in the sky, comes into view and suddenly Gabe is completely at a loss for words. She’s as tall as he is, slender and lithe as he is broad and barrel-chested, her eyes large, dark and deep. Her smile is hesitant but brightens as she sees him approach, the flash of white teeth the brightest part of her face.

Just like him. Her skin is as lovely a shade of mahogany as he’d been told, warm and wonderful. Her hair is blacker than the night around them, thick and heavy, straightened and pulled back into a tail that hangs down her back. She’s as surprised to see him as he is to see her – and clearly, just as taken. 

“See something you like?” Steve Rogers says, jabbing him with an elbow before he pushes him into the cantina, closing the door behind them.

They would get her, and her band out of the French village HYDRA had drove them to. Predictably, she and Gabe would talk largely in Latin so nobody else could understand them, including Jacques, who took it somewhat harder than anyone expected.

Before they got the little band back to England, Gabe often kept Steve awake trying to teach him the Latin variant Carla had learned in her little time in Switzerland, happier than he’d even known him. And Steve knew he would never hear “It’s Been a Long, Long Time” without hearing Carla singing to Gabe’s trumpet ever again.

###

“I remember how the soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands were pink like mine,” Steve says, turning over Rhodey’s hands in his own. “I remember being jealous of how he could stay out in the sun without getting sunburned – at all – when the rest of us were boiled lobsters. Okay, until he went down with heat exhaustion first, and then it wasn’t funny anymore.”

“Did you ever look up what happened to him? Try to reconnect with his family, or didn’t he have one?” Rhodey’s tone was quiet and patient, letting Steve redraw him from memory into Gabe. He knew the other man still, for all the years he’d been alive, hadn’t interacted with many people of color and he was dead certain Nick Fury hadn’t encouraged any natural curiosity Steve might have had on the matter. Rhodey had known Tony Stark, and this was _tame_ compared to what Tony had been like in his teens…and he’d had to know everything.

“Oh, he has descendants, plenty of them. But as you might imagine, they don’t have much to do with the likes of me.” Sighing, Steve lets go of Rhodey’s hands to look into the palms of his own. “And I’ll admit, I’m not motivated to pry or intrude on their lives just to satisfy some half-assed need of mine to see how things turned out. Cos’ I kinda know what happened. Gabe and Carla got married, and after the war, got busy. Lived happily ever after and all that. What do they need with me showing up to ask questions? Both of them are gone, and I stopped there. They have kids; how many and what they did with their lives is their own business.”

“So nobody asks about Gabe Jones? Not with Captain America back in the world again?”

Steve is still looking at the floor when he answers. “So far, you’re the first. And I’m really happy you did.”

Waiting for Steve to pick his head up to look him in the eye again, Rhodey puts a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Let me make a suggestion or two for you. You’re going to DC, right? I know the place, big government town and all. Pepper got an apartment all picked out for you already?”

“She had a little help from Nick Fury,” Steve answered wryly, “But yeah. Says she’s already got it furnished for me, down to houseplants, cookies in the cookie jar and neatly organized sock drawers. Why do you ask?”

“She picked one near the VA, and the quad. Asked me for suggestions.”

“Before she ‘suggested’ you bring the armor over for Tony to fix today.”

“Bingo. You know my red-headed step-sister. Anyway – “ Rhodey fixed Steve with a long look, his dark brown eyes going solemn. “Go over to the VA, hang out around some of the support groups that meet there. You’re not going to find anyone your age there with WWII experience – most of those veterans are dealing with end of life challenges you’ve yet to face – but you will find people with combat experience trying to re-enter life, and it sounds like you might do well both for them, and for yourself. You won’t sound so out of step there. It’s a nice distance for a run, and the scenery is pretty.”

“Thanks. Feel like I’m already there.”

And there it was, the high-pitched fluttering whine of a quinjet approaching the Tower.

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, Steve.”

“My ride’s here.”

“Is that so? Well, don’t keep them waiting. Bon voyage, knock ‘em dead, whatever they say – just – “

“Not good bye. Got it. I’ll call when I get in.”

“I’ll send flowers.” Tony’s futzed voice faded out for a moment, and they could hear him heave a huge sigh. “Be safe. Nat’s going with you, so keep an eye out for her too, okay?”

“Oh great. She and Pepper are going to talk, you know what that means.” Moving to pick up the first load of duffel bags, Steve noticed with gratitude that Rhodey had followed him to help. “She’s going to be trying to get me to make friends at every opportunity.”

“Don’t take it personally, but I think they’ve made up their minds that you’re happier with some female friends. You’re theirs, after all.”

“They’re just both taken, story of my life.”

When they reached the helipad, and the door to the quinjet opened, Steve was surprised to see Clint Barton in the pilot’s seat, Natasha Romanov co-piloting – and Pepper Potts was seated in one of the passenger seats. “I heard that, young man,” she purred, unbuckling to rise from her seat with open arms. “I’m riding down with you and Tash, then Clint is taking me to Hong Kong.”

“The other Stark Tower?”

“Yup! Ready for AI installation, and final plan check.” It was easy to step into that embrace, even as he was careful not to crush her, resting one cheek on the top of her head. “I’m so glad Rhodey was available to come by and let Tony fix things while we’re all gone like this.”

“I’m glad you’re turning this into a milk run,” Steve said, “Thanks.”

Letting her go, she immediately stepped around him to move to the doorway where she cupped Rhodey’s face with one hand and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “Keep him busy, you know the drill.”

“I’ll feed, water and run interference. Same as always.”

Settling in for the ride to Washington, DC, Steve heaved a huge sigh as the last sight of the Tower was Rhodey standing in the middle of the helipad, waving full-armed until they were out of sight.

“He’s a good man,” Steve remarked to Natasha, who grinned. 

“Did he tell you about checking out the VA when you get there?” Her smile was a bit too bright and was instantly suspicious. She was next to Clint, who only looked pleased to see him but wasn’t volunteering anything. “There’s a guy Rhodey’s caught wind of he’s really keep an eye on – does good work down there are a group therapy coach.”

“Sam Wilson.” Clint offered, then frowned when Natasha glared at him. “What?”

“Keep an eye out for him. You like Rhodey, you’ll like Sam too. Just a bit younger, much hipper.” Turning back to pay attention to the dash, she missed Steve chuckling at the last.

“Now why does that not bother me that you already know who my neighbors are.”

“Because I picked them.” Pepper didn’t even look up from her tablet. “Okay, I looked them up and cleared them. Because I’m like that and I have to live with Tony and answer stupid questions at 3AM.”

“Love you too, Sis.”

“Right atcha, Bro.” But she pulled out a spare tablet and handed it to him. “Here, compliments of the house. Get your territorial imperatives in order while you have time.”

“Tony – “

“Has Bruce, has Rhodey and will have me and Clint in a few weeks. It’ll be fine, and he has plenty to keep him busy.”

“That’s what worries me. He’s going to be busy.” Turning the tablet on, he swiped open a new document and began typing. 

_Tony –_

_Do me a favor and take lot of pictures of Rhodey, even if you think it’s a stupid idea. Let him dictate some stories from your old days in school and keep them around to refresh your memory._

_I’m missing my old friend Gabe something fierce right now, and I don’t want that for you._

_Will call when I get in. Thanks for everything._

_-SGR_

Pepper found herself contacting the head of acquisitions at the Smithsonian the next day with a curious offer on Tony’s behalf, but then when was that ever a surprise?

“Can you talk those guys into giving Steve a place to store all those memories rattling around in his poor head? We can spare the money to sponsor it, just talk them into giving Steve a place to visit his friends. Nobody has to know. You’ve managed art collections before, Pep. Make it happen. By the way – SHHHHHH.”

The hardest part was reminding Steve that Bucky had died, but helping them collect the artifacts and tell their stories – having placed Steve into the capable hands of the Smithsonian docents before heading off to Hong Kong – did a lot to keep Steve Roger’s hands busy.

Going home, not away. Just home.

###

**Author's Note:**

> *Whew!* Hope I didn't make too much of a dog's breakfast of that - comments are adored.


End file.
